Signature Moves
by Dr Spleenmeister
Summary: I do like a man in a suit. Rating is high because my imagination can get a bit smutty. This is a collection of drabbles and one-shots, written as the muse takes me.
1. Signature Moves

**Signature Moves**

Exquisitely manicured fingernails drummed a contemplative beat upon the worn leather surface of an ancient, painstakingly hand crafted, oak desk. This desk had seen an awful lot of the Mikaelson family history, its owner being so very attached to it that it was moved to every new place he resided; its surface had seen letters, treaties, love notes, orders of execution, all pressed into it with delicate swirls of quill, pencil and pen through paper. It had seen Chinese tea, Colombian coffee, French wine and English mead spilled onto it. This desk had seen a lot and right now it was silently watching its protective owner retracting his considerable protectiveness from where he had cast it.

A crystal cut glass tumbler was placed gently onto the leather surface, the dregs of a painfully expensive liqueur lingering in the bottom.

The fingers continued to drum, each beat of creamy crescent against the burgundy leather tapping another stitch into the fabric of the owner's emotional cape. The human stereotypes often had vampires wearing high-collared, black capes, so why not live up to the expectation and keep a figurative one wrapped tightly around his heart?

Another tap, another stitch.

The latest plan for peace had failed; his gambit to win the girl who had quietly slipped into his unbeating heart had failed; his endless efforts to keep his family together had failed. Lips twitched, baring white teeth for a split second. Failure had a nasty taste. He rose slowly to his feet, moved to refill his glass and wished, not for the first time, that he could let go in the same drunken fashion as his brother and Marcellus.

The refilled glass was quickly emptied.

Turning away from the wine cabinet, he leaned against the sturdy bookcase that lined the entire wall of his study and gazed at his desk. He tried not to think back to the secret fantasies of bending a certain dark haired female over it and having his dark, evil, sinful way with her.

He failed. Naturally.

Arousal stirring unwillingly within him, he twisted his lips and moved his gaze to the window. The moon was full, not that it mattered any more; the crescent wolves were regaining more and more of their humanity every day and their bayou home would soon extend into the city.

He was being overrun.

Drawing himself up, tilting his chin and taking on the haughty facade everyone expected of him, he straightened his pocket handkerchief, snagged a bottle and two glasses from the wine cabinet and headed downstairs.

He needed to have words with his brother.


	2. Consecrate

**Consecrate**

* * *

The lazy New Orleans sun filtered through gauzy voiles that draped a pair of large renaissance style French doors from floor to ceiling. Beams of warm light crept along the floor to gently highlight the two figures entwined together, in the large four poster bed that dominated the otherwise sparsely furnished room. The air of the bedroom was thick with a hot, amorous musk; evidence of the previous night's illicit activities.

Within the expansive bed the powerful and wise Celeste Dubois lay on her back, propped up against a handful of overstuffed pillows, and gazed down at the dark, tousled head drowsing on her shoulder. Her fingers tangled and untangled in the disheveled hair of the head, prompting the owner to nuzzle deeper into her embrace as he slept. She smiled softly and thought back to the darkness of night; if only he knew how gorgeous he was when caught in the throes of love-making...

Her fingers remaining possessively in his hair, Celeste's eyes flitted to the view from the French doors and she sighed. She knew what was coming; it was time to put her fallback plan into motion.

She would tell him that she wanted burying far away from the rest of her kind when the time came. She would tell him this because it would break his undead heart to know that she was still alive, safely preserved in the body of another. She told herself it was for his protection. If the witches came to reabsorb her not inconsiderable power and found her already gone they would be furious and they would come for him and his family.

His family. She snorted softly. "Always and forever", if only he'd made that vow to the right person. He stirred again sleepily, evidently disturbed by the soft noise and she felt his burgeoning interest pressing against her leg.

A lump formed in her throat, along with a crack in her resolve.

It was for his protection... forget Rebekah and Niklaus, she would happily watch them knifed and shoved in eternal caskets, in fact she'd probably help, but her beloved would never suffer by her hand, or by the hand of her people if she could help it. She could watch over him by doing this and he would be protected without even knowing it. His hips rolled against her and he moaned softly in his half-awake haze. She swallowed, her body reacting to him in the same way that it always did. The heavy, masculine arm slung over her middle tightened as he pulled her body to his, and as he moved over her she made her final resolution.

She would do this. Time would bring them back together again she was sure.

Claiming her with a soft whimper, submissive despite his position above her, Elijah Mikaelson lay with Celeste Dubois for the last time.

Time would bring them together again...

Time was a twisted bitch.


End file.
